


Mercurial Moggy

by bauble



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Barebacking, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: Arthur has agreed to help Eames through his heat one last time, despite their complicated history together. Eames may have other plans.





	Mercurial Moggy

**Author's Note:**

> Eames is a human with cat characteristics. Arthur a human with dog characteristics. They are both criminals who engage in morally dubious behavior, as per canon.
> 
> This story (along with the rest of my work) is a choose not to warn space. If a reader has specific questions about content, they can reach out to me directly. Otherwise, readers are left to decide whether they are comfortable proceeding or not.

Arthur raises his fist to knock, stops. 

He can smell Eames inside the house: seductive, familiar, maddening. The pheromones are undeniable, confirmation in a single breath of the earlier' voicemail from Eames: _please, darling, I need you_.

But of course the heats were never the problem. The problem had been everything else in their relationship.

When Arthur agreed to come over, he'd made it clear that this was a one time thing. Eames had agreed readily enough. But now that Arthur's here, he's beginning to have second thoughts about his ability to resist Eames-inspired bad ideas. 

Arthur rests his forehead against the door. The smartest option would be to turn around and leave while he still has enough functioning brain cells to do so. Despite melodramatic assertions to the contrary, Eames will not die if Arthur doesn't fuck him personally through a heat. Arthur should--

The door opens and Arthur half-stumbles inside, right into the scent of Eames. He can't stop himself from taking a deep inhale, because god, it smells amazing. Eames always smells fucking amazing.

"I knew I detected your magnificent aroma," Eames says, voice low. He's leaning against the doorjamb, tail gliding up and down his own leg languorously. "And you look exquisite, of course."

"I always do," Arthur replies, casual. He should know better than to fall for Eames' flattery.

"Indeed." Eames smiles. "Something I've always appreciated about you."

Eames looks pretty handsome himself, in a deep crimson shirt that's fitted to his broad shoulders and chest. His hair is released from that awful comb-over prison, lightly tousled. There are a few notes of aftershave, laundry detergent on his clothing, but no antiperspirant or deodorant. Arthur wets his abruptly dry lips, tries to form words using his abruptly blank mind. "You aren't wearing--"

"You said you didn't care for it," Eames murmurs, gaze raking over Arthur from head to toe. "You said you don't want anything interfering with my scent."

"Did I say that?" Arthur runs a hand over his face as his cock twitches. The shit that comes out of his mouth in the middle of a heat. He hadn't realized how potent Eames would be without any odor-blocking--sharp, alluring, nearly hypnotic.

"Is it to your liking?" Eames asks, eyes heavy-lidded, sultry.

Arthur can't help but sway closer into him, inhale more deeply from the source. "You know it is."

Eames' smile widens. He trails a single finger down Arthur's chest, raising goosebumps, and hooks it into Arthur's belt. "Come with me."

With one tiny tug, Arthur is following him in. Leaving behind all the hesitation, the suspicion, the reasons why they shouldn't be doing this.

Arthur's been in Eames' house before, twice. They both traveled frequently, separately, and weren't often in New Orleans contemporaneously. But the instant Arthur stepped foot on the front lawn, saw the blooming wisteria vine trailing over the entirety of the porch (strong enough to conceal Eames' scent if you didn't know what you were searching for), he knew this property was more than a safe-house. This was a home, and one of Eames' favorite places to take his heats--which had been the occasions on which he'd invited Arthur over.

Arthur can smell the considerable age of the building, laced with the humidity of the bayou and baked in the summer sun. The upholstered furniture Eames had shipped across the ocean, generations old and permeated with a different sort of moisture--that of chilly fog. The artwork scattered across the walls, a mix of new (forgeries) and old (original Nigerian masks made by a rushing river).

Instead of leading Arthur upstairs into the bedroom, Eames walks down a narrow hallway into the dining room, where there is the unmistakable aroma of food wafting through the air. 

Arthur stops in the entry to the dining room. The circular table is set with plates and utensils (china and metal, not the plastic takeout kind), and folded cloth napkins. There's a mixed green salad, rolls, and in the center, an impressive platter of tuna tartare. A chilled bottle of Arthur's favorite brand of beer sits by his place setting.

"Wow," Arthur says, taken aback. Eames has, up until this moment, shown zero interest in cooking, and most of their meals together consisted of restaurants or eating straight from a takeout carton. This is a level of effort Eames never bothered with in the nine months they'd actually dated. 

"I wanted to show how much I appreciate your coming here," Eames guides Arthur to his seat and cracks open their beers. "I couldn't imagine going through this week alone."

Arthur doubts that Eames has ever spent a heat alone, or that he would decide to do so if Arthur had declined to visit. He opts to start in on the food rather than voice his thoughts aloud, however.

The tuna tastes amazing, fresh caught fish being one of the few areas where their culinary preferences overlap. Throughout the meal, Eames is solicitous, thoughtful, full of entertaining stories and good humor.

Arthur had forgotten, in the last month, just how effective Eames' charm offensives could be. How dangerous they were.

"That color quite suits you," Eames says, leaning across the table to toy with Arthur's lapel. "I believe you were wearing a similar shade when we first met."

"You remember what I was wearing when we first met," Arthur echoes, skeptical.

"After a lifetime spent dismissing dogs as slobbering, unkempt idiots, how could I forget my first meeting with the remarkable creature who destroyed all my preconceived notions?"

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "You believed those stereotypes?"

"I'm afraid I did. Terrible, I know, but surely you also had some notions about what moggies would be like before you met me?"

"I'd heard a few things," Arthur admits. "But I've dated cats before you. The only thing I've found to be consistently true is how loud you guys are in bed."

Eames chuckles as his fingertips slide up the side of Arthur's neck, to his jaw. "I suspect you bring it out in us."

Arthur cocks his head to one side, doesn't lean away from the touch. "I thought we were supposed to be eating dinner. Or are you ready to move on to dessert already?"

"Oh, no, please do continue eating." Eames stands, slinks around the table. "Don't allow me to distract you."

"Maybe you should quit being so distracting," Arthur replies, letting out a soft sigh as Eames' clever fingers find his way behind Arthur's ears.

"Now why would I do that?" Eames' hands are expert, sure in their touch. "Are you growing out your hair again? I haven't seen it this long since--"

"Inception." Arthur's mouth tightens, traces of remembered frustration bubbling up. "You said you'd meet me in San Diego after."

"I meant to, but there was a situation with local law enforcement. I didn't want to bring trouble your way."

"Yeah, I'm sure you were just looking out for me." Arthur pulls his head away. "Like when you said you'd pick me up at the airport and forgot?"

"My alarm didn't go off properly," Eames protested. "And when I woke up, I sent a car."

"Right, because the point is that I can't get my own taxi."

"Surely you aren't still cross with me over that?" Eames pumps up his accent with great dismay. "That was ages ago."

"Three months ago," Arthur corrects, and begins to remember why this was probably a bad idea, tuna tartare notwithstanding. 

"It's felt like an eternity, being without you," Eames whispers, with an earnestness that would be laughable on anybody else. On him, however, it sounds heartfelt. Vulnerable.

Arthur is being manipulated. Yet he can't quite bring himself to move away again from Eames' touch, the petting that sends deep waves of contentment vibrating throughout his entire body. Eames' other hand cups Arthur's cock through his pants. "Is it me you want? Or is it my--"

Eames sinks his teeth into Arthur's ear, the brief flare of pain halting Arthur's words. "Finish eating, darling. We have days ahead of us."

Arthur is still hungry, has half a plate of tuna left. But Eames is kneading rhythmically now, making it difficult to concentrate on anything besides his growing erection. "We--"

"And in the meanwhile, I'll have a little taste," Eames mumbles to himself, sliding to his knees. He rubs his cheek against Arthur's groin, undoes the zipper with his teeth. "Just a taste and then--"

"Wait." Arthur moans as Eames draws his half-hard cock out and licks the very tip. "You--"

"Keep eating." Eames looks up, eyes all pupil. 

Arthur forces himself to continue, clumsy and mechanical, as Eames lifts the cock to his lips, covers the surface in delicate licks and kisses. Arthur can barely manage to chew when Eames buries his nose in the space between Arthur's dick and his balls. Eames is sniffing him where Arthur is most raw and pungent, reveling in it.

"If I suck you, will you knot?" Eames' gaze has gone glassy. 

"I don't know." Arthur swallows the last bite of food gratefully, struggles to think. He doesn't usually knot, and almost never outside someone's ass or pussy. But Eames' heat scrambles the rules, drives all of Arthur's idiotic breeding instincts into overdrive. "I don't know if--"

Eames isn't paying attention. He's ducked back in again to lap at Arthur's balls, his perineum, his hole. Arthur wasn't wearing underwear--why bother when he'd be mostly naked all week?--and the constriction of his pants prevents him from spreading his legs wider. Eames doesn't seem to mind the cramped quarters, though, dips in eagerly to bathe everything in saliva. It's one of the hottest things Arthur's ever seen.

Arthur brings a hand down to the back of Eames' head, thumbs the soft cat ears, barely visible in Eames' hair. This produces a rumbling noise that hits the base of Arthur's cock and yeah, maybe this is enough to make him knot.

"You're going to make me come," Arthur says. Eames ignores him until Arthur digs into hair and pulls. "Listen to me."

Eames glares up at him balefully. "What?"

"Maybe we should hold off. If I come and knot, it won't deflate for--"

Eames bites the tender flesh of Arthur's inner thigh, hard enough to make Arthur yelp. "I don't want to wait."

Arthur yanks Eames' head back again with more force. "Hey. I'm not some toy you can--"

Eames shoves Arthur's legs apart, hard enough to tear the fabric of his pants, and shoves a finger up inside. Arthur gasps at the dry, unexpected intrusion, and reflexively releases his grip on Eames' hair. "You're doing to fuck my face with your big dog dick, and come down my throat," Eames rasps. "Then I'm going to worship your knot with my tongue and imagine what it's going to feel like inside me."

"Fine," Arthur grits out as he grabs Eames with both hands. "Have it your way, then."

Arthur shoves Eames down, and shudders at the wet heat. Eames holds his mouth open, doesn't try to balance himself as Arthur takes control. His eyes flutter shut as he submits, purring blissfully with every thrust down his throat. 

Arthur slumps backwards when orgasm hits, one hand moving down to cup the rapidly swelling base of his cock. It's been years since he dry knotted like this, no condom to catch the stream of jizz flowing out. Below him, Eames swallows as much and as quickly as he can. He tries to take in all of Arthur's length, mouths helplessly at the side of Arthur's knot.

Eames makes a good go of it, small dribbles leaking out the side of his mouth. When Arthur finally stops pulsing, Eames pulls off to rub his lips, lick up whatever managed to escape. He surveys Arthur's knot, squeezing and kissing it with great fascination. 

Arthur watches him with fatigued wariness; in general, knots are rare for Arthur. They don't usually appear during sex with most partners, including Eames. But Eames in heat is the exception, and Arthur has often had to pull out halfway to avoid knotting inside Eames and destroying the condom.

"I bet this feels bloody phenomenal," Eames mumbles as he circles it with both his hands. He makes a pleased noise when that summons another trickle of come, and licks it up with unabashed enthusiasm. "Going to plug me up completely."

The wariness is replaced with a sleepy serenity. Arthur indulgently allows Eames to play with his knot, and finds himself drifting off.

* * * * *

The first time Arthur bailed Eames out of prison in the Czech Republic, Eames celebrated the heroic rescue with effusive gratitude; they didn't leave Arthur's hotel room for three days.

A month later, Arthur was forced to catch a last minute flight to China. Eames, it turned out, liked to dabble in high-stakes gambling--in as much as anyone could dabble when the initial buy-in was a hundred-thousand US dollars. Eames, it also turned out, was not quite the genius mahjong player he'd imagined himself to be, and had accumulated substantial gambling debts to the Triad. Eames didn't have the money to pay Arthur back right away, but his thanks were every bit as enthusiastic as before, and so was the sex.

The third time Eames rang for help, Arthur had to book a private helicopter. He then chartered a boat to a remote location in the Sudan where Eames was being held hostage by a warlord, whom he'd managed to piss off with a botched short con. Arthur spent six hours negotiating Eames' release, a transaction which ultimately lead to a hefty cash ransom and a delirious, debilitating bout of malaria. Eames stuck around to see Arthur through the drug treatment course, but not much longer than that. Professional commitments, can't be helped, etc etc.

The fourth and fifth times involved fewer infectious diseases but more money, and consequently bigger arguments after Arthur secured Eames' release. The fights inevitably segued into mind-blowing makeup sex. Acts of contrition on Eames' part followed, accompanied by semi-convincing promises to change. Little actual change occurred.

In the sixth month they were together, Eames took a break from backroom gambling and drunken disorderliness to start his own online business. At least, this is what he claimed when Arthur made a monetary investment to support said business. A few days later, it was all revealed to be some financial scam that left Eames broke. Again.

In the seventh month, Eames requested a 'loan' to cover some of his 'living expenses' with vague language as to when, exactly, he'd pay Arthur back. In the eighth month, Arthur flat out refused to lend Eames any more money, and in the ninth, Arthur broke up with him. 

It had been hard, those first few weeks. Arthur missed the easy companionship, not to mention excellent and frequent sex. But a month passed, Eames stopped texting, and Arthur's bank account seemed on track to recover from nearly a year of profligate misspending.

Then the call about the heat came.

* * * * *

When he wakes up, the table has been cleared and Arthur stripped naked; nothing sends him into a heavier slumber than a good knot. Strong hands come down on his shoulders, begin to massage with precisely the right pressure.

"You left me without relief," Eames says as he nips at the shell of Arthur's ear. "I couldn't wake you for half an hour."

"Warned you." Arthur exhales as the aches from sleeping upright ease. "Didn't listen."

"Let's go upstairs so you can make it up to me," Eames says, and something niggles in Arthur's memory. Something Eames said earlier, when Arthur was distracted with orgasm.

"I'm not going to knot inside you," Arthur says. Eames doesn't react and Arthur turns to face him. "Did you hear me? We're using condoms, which means no knots, no STIs and no babies."

"Who said I wanted you to?"

Arthur studies him, suspicious, but Eames' expression is all mild puzzlement. "And you know we're--this doesn't mean we're getting back together. This is a one time favor, until you meet someone else who can help you out with your heats."

"I am now aware you're not the only man in the universe. Thank you for properly reminding me."

"Okay." Arthur stands, conscious of the fact that he's naked and Eames isn't. "As long as we understand each other."

Eames escorts Arthur upstairs, his long, tawny tail stroking down Arthur's leg. Arthur has often wondered if Eames' has conscious control over the movement, can employ it as yet another weapon in his arsenal. Arthur's tail has always been too short and stubby to be used as a limb. All it's ever seemed able to do is function as an irritatingly honest reflection of his moods. 

The master bedroom is well-lit, with the afternoon soon streaming in through the windows, heavy curtains open. There's a newly installed air conditioning unit, bringing the sweltering space down to a reasonable temperature. The last time he visited, Arthur had complained about the impossibly hot, cave-like environment. To his great surprise, it seems like Eames finally listened.

The bed is still the same, though: a mammoth four poster with a brocade canopy and tassels Eames will bat at endlessly. It's never been particularly comfortable to sleep in, and the frame squeaks incessantly during sex. Not that anybody can hear it over Eames.

The room stinks of pheromones, enticing and almost cloying. There are slight traces of Arthur's scent in the air as well, leftover from their last two heats together. The first had lasted four days, the second nearly a full week. Arthur's memories of both are patchy: disappearing into the fog of lust and surfacing every now and again to eat, drink, take a shit. Arthur had emerged from both ravenous, dehydrated, and sore all over.

"Arthur," Eames purrs, all the r's seeming to drop out of his name. "Do you remember the first time we--"

"Fucked?" Arthur supplies as Eames pulls his shirt off, revealing tattooed muscle underneath. Arthur would be lying if he said that he didn't miss seeing--touching--that body after their breakup.

"Such a romantic." Eames undoes his belt, allows his trousers to fall to the ground. "I was going to say went for drinks together."

"We fucked after the drinks."

"We did. And it was sublime." Eames steps out of his trousers, left in nothing but his skimpy black underwear. "I remember thinking: I just had sex with the perfect man."

"Perfect, right." Arthur chuckles; he'd forgotten about the shameless flattery portion of Eames' cycle, a sweet lead-in to whatever insane demands or 'requests' he would ultimately make.

"You don't believe me?" Eames runs a hand down his own chest and abdomen.

Arthur hums. The heat-fever that broke, briefly, with orgasm and a refractory period, is rising again, pushing conversation down as a secondary concern. "That's not the tune you were singing a couple weeks ago."

"I was hurt, darling. You can't hold the words of a wounded animal against him, can you?" Eames drifts closer to Arthur again, the scent of him overpowering everything else. "I would have said or done anything to convince you to return."

Arthur noses along the curve of Eames' neck, sniffs behind his ear. "But not now?"

"Now I'm simply happy you're here." Eames pulls his cock from his underwear, gives it a few lazy jerks while Arthur watches, mesmerized. God, he's missed that weight on his tongue, that shape holding his mouth open wide.

Fucking Eames. Arthur licks his lips. "I want to suck you."

A smile spreads across Eames' face. "How badly?"

Arthur pushes Eames back onto the mattress and crawls between his legs. The musk is rich, thick, almost overwhelming between his thighs. Arthur licks Eames' dick, his balls, and can't help but linger at his hole--which is already slick. Arthur's ability to string words together evaporates. He feels lightheaded.

Eames is already moaning above him, spurring Arthur on. He dives in, lavishing Eames' balls with attention as he works one finger inside. Eames keens when Arthur finds his prostate, babbles nonsense about how badly he wants Arthur inside him, breeding him--

Arthur latches onto Eames' dick in time to catch his orgasm, swallows liquid that, in his lust-addled mind, tastes like the best thing in the entire world. He loses himself in it, suckling until there's nothing left and then ducking down to lap at Eames' hole.

"Good boy," Eames says, stroking behind Arthur's ears. Arthur groans mindlessly, humping his own erection inelegantly against the sheets. "You're aching to be inside me, aren't you? Come up here and kiss me, you gorgeous man."

Arthur kisses up the line of Eames' body, pausing to examine both taut nipples before meeting Eames' luscious mouth. Whatever his faults, Eames was always a fantastic kisser, the right mix of restraint and passion and saliva--always teasing, but never frustratingly so.

Eames runs his palms all over Arthur's body: his tail, his cock. Arthur shivers at both, because after nine months, Eames knows how to wring every ounce of pleasure from Arthur's body. Eames is mumbling about being mounted for days, tied together, nonsense Arthur only half-listens to.

Eames rolls them so he's on top, straddling Arthur's hips. Arthur blinks up blearily as Eames grinds down. Arthur has never wanted to be inside someone this badly before.

"Condoms," Arthur says muzzily, because it's important they get them out before he loses what little ability to think he still has. "Do you have? I have some downstairs--"

Eames wraps a hand around the back of Arthur's neck and pulls him in for a rough kiss. "You're so big and I need it. I need you inside me now."

Arthur runs grasping hands over the back of Eames' thighs, his perfect round ass. He should stop this until they figure out the condom situation. He shouldn't be encouraging the way Eames rubs his wet hole along Arthur's cock. "Condom. You--"

"Allow me." Eames puts a hand around Arthur's dick to steady it, and Arthur relaxes. Eames already has one. He'll take care of this.

But instead of ripping plastic and the sensation of constricting latex, there's only heat and skin as Eames sinks down on top of him. It feels incredible and hot and wanton--like nothing Arthur's ever felt before, because he's never, never, had sex without a condom before. 

It's terrifying. It's better than anything he could have ever imagined.

A raw, guttural moan rips out of Arthur's throat as he tries to push Eames away, to no avail. Eames bottoms out and digs his fingers, like claws, into Arthur's biceps. "There it is," Eames murmurs, low. "Exactly there."

"Shouldn't..." Arthur protests, feebly. Eames begins to move on top of him, eager and determined.

"So good," Eames says, sounding pleasure-drunk. "It's so good. More, Arthur, more--"

"Is not safe," Arthur slurs, even as a part of him is enthralled with how Eames looks and feels, writhing on top of him. Tight and fucking gagging for it.

"I couldn't wait anymore." Eames wraps one hand around his own dick, which is flushed and fat and drooling across his stomach. "I need it. I need you, please."

Arthur's resolve breaks as Eames leans down to kiss him, cupping his face with both hands. Arthur gasps at the smell of Eames' intoxicating precome against his cheek. "No knotting," Arthur says, at last, trying to draw a line. "I'll need to pull out--soon."

"So huge inside me," Eames whispers as Arthur's hips begin to thrust up. "Nothing between us, nothing to stop you from filling me up--"

Arthur loses track of the words as he ruts against Eames, the cloud of heat blotting out everything except the piston of his cock. Eames is mewling, urging Arthur on, and they should slow down, they should--

"'m gonna knot," Arthur mumbles, tries to still his hips. "Have to pull--"

"I'm close." Eames nuzzles at Arthur's neck. "So close, don't stop--"

"I'm close, too," Arthur says, a growing sense of alarm cutting through the fog in his mind. His balls are heavy, the base of his cock beginning to swell. "I'm gonna knot, baby, you need to--"

Eames stops moving but doesn't dismount. He presses his weight down instead, all of Arthur's cock inside him. His back arches as the knot begins to expand.

Waves of euphoria crest over Arthur's body as some biological instinct within him thrums with satisfaction: this is where he belongs, with his knot stuffed deep inside a beautiful, cock-hungry mate. 

The doubts recede. This is what he was made for.

"Oh," his mate whimpers, sounding awed. He's coming untouched, lips parted and eyes closed as he sways. "So full. So thick I never--I didn't know--"

Arthur hums, content and pleased, as he rolls them both onto their sides. He pumps into his mate lazily, charmed when his mate immediately wraps his legs around Arthur's waist and begs him closer. Arthur savors every moan, wonders how many times his mate can come while hanging off his knot. They have a whole heat to find out.

His mate--Eames, a part of Arthur's brain reminds him--sighs blissfully as his tail caresses their twined limbs. His mate is starting to smell like Arthur, both outside and inside, which is as it should be. "Only a matter of time now," his mate says, a triumphant gleam in his eye that interrupts Arthur's hazy plans for how they'll fuck next.

Those disquieting words drift away as Arthur closes his eyes, floating in a sea of endorphins and exhaustion. It occurs to him that he doesn't actually know very much about cat physiology. He never bothered to research it much because he rarely knotted and never had sex without condoms. The odds of STI transference between a dog and cat are low, but not nonexistent. And surely if pregnancy were any kind of risk, his mate would be on some kind of birth control.

Wouldn't he?

fin


End file.
